Charred Wood Part 30

Father Murray chuckled all the way back to the hotel--and kept his counsel. When they arrived at his bedroom door, Mark stopped him.

"Great Heavens, Father! You're not going to leave us in the dark like this?"

"'In the dark' is _very_ good United States, Mark."

"But what does it mean? What card did you play?"

Father Murray's hand was on the doork.n.o.b, his eyes dancing with merriment.

"They say, Mark, that a royal flush beats everything. Well, I played that."

Mark tried to catch him but, with a low chuckle, he slipped into the room and closed the door.

CHAPTER XX

THE "d.u.c.h.eSS" ABDICATES

A few hours later--about ten o'clock--an automobile stopped in front of the New Willard Hotel, and the Minister and his secretary alighted.

The visitors were shown at once into Father Murray's room where Mark, Saunders and the priest waited. His Excellency took the chair offered him and, with some hesitation in his choice, of words, opened the conversation.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I first wish to congratulate you on your persistence. That persistence led me to think that there was some justice in your case. You can scarcely blame me, however, for not granting your wish immediately, especially since, as my secretary informed you, the effects of the dead lady seemed to indicate that it was Miss Atheson who had been killed. I find that I was mistaken. It was the Grand d.u.c.h.ess. There is absolutely no question about that now.

As soon as you are ready to receive Miss Atheson, she shall leave the Ministry where, as you understand, she has been an honored guest."

The impetuous Saunders broke out: "Your Excellency means an honored prisoner."

But Father Murray stepped into the breach.

"Not at all, Saunders," he said, "not at all." Then he turned to the Minister. "Miss Atheson has been an honored guest at the Ministry.

That is perfectly understood, Your Excellency, _perfectly_ understood."

The Minister bowed. "I thank you, Reverend Sir. I am glad you do understand. Miss Atheson was a friend of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Carlotta.

She had known her in Europe. Why should she not have been a guest at the Ministry of the nation which exercises a protectorate over the domains of her late Royal Highness? I should wish to have that known to the public. This afternoon we shall give to the press the sad story of the visit to America of Her Royal Highness, under strict incognito.

Her friend, Miss Atheson, was of course awaiting the arrival of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess, having come down in advance. Miss Atheson will, I am sure, be kind enough, and considerate enough of the memory of Her Highness, not to deny any of these statements."

"I am sure, Your Excellency," said the priest, "that Miss Atheson will keep strict silence as to the past. She would not wish to embarra.s.s the situation nor in any way stain the memory of her dead friend. Of that you may rest a.s.sured."

"I beg your pardon," said His Excellency, "but--I trust I may rely upon the discretion of these gentlemen?"

Mark and Saunders bowed their a.s.surance.

"Certainly."

"Your Excellency may rely on our discretion."

"It is needless for me to say," continued the Minister, "that the situation is most embarra.s.sing. But there is no reason why the Grand d.u.c.h.ess should not have visited her friend--no reason why she should not have come to Washington on her way back to her own country. She would naturally wish to avoid publicity and, of course, the Ministry was constantly in touch with her moves. All this is a reasonable explanation of what has occurred. As to the body's having lain neglected in the Baltimore morgue for some hours, something must be a.s.sumed by the telegraph company. The body has already been embalmed, and arrangements have been made for its shipment to Europe. I shall myself go to Baltimore this afternoon. Do you, Reverend Sir, wish it known that the friend of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess is your niece?"

"Yes; but I wish it put to the world in the proper form. Since Your Excellency is preparing copy for the papers, may I ask if you will permit me to revise it?"

"That I shall be glad to do," said the Minister, his face all smiles.

As His Excellency was about to depart, Saunders stopped him.

"One word, Your Excellency. Baron Griffin and myself were witnesses to a very sad occurrence in Siha.s.set--"

The Minister turned hurriedly.

"You are mistaken, my friend," he said, significantly. "You are mistaken. You saw nothing--remember that. It will be better for all concerned. Your State Department would not thank you for making embarra.s.sing statements. Things have come out happily for you, if not for the unfortunate d.u.c.h.ess. Yet, after all, perhaps the best thing that could have happened for her was what you believed--until you were corrected--happened in Siha.s.set. Baron Griffin will tell you that I speak the truth when I say that the next best thing was her own death."

Mark inclined his head, for he had heard something of the reputation of Luigi del Farno, when he was in Florence.

And then for the moment the Minister was forgotten in the man, and tears glistened in His Excellency's eyes.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I never saw Her Royal Highness. But I have heard a great deal of her, and I have followed her career. She was not born to be a d.u.c.h.ess. She had all my sympathy, for she was just a woman--beautiful, sentimental, loving. She was just the kind to do the rash things which courts will not tolerate. She was the kind to follow her own heart and not the dictates of kings. She was unhappy at court, and that unhappiness was increased when she fell in love with the Italian. She was the kind who would love until death--and then beyond the grave. She was one who would make any sacrifice to her devotion.

But she fought against the solid rock of princely customs and prejudices, and there was nothing for her but to break upon it. Her love ruined that young officer. He was doomed from the moment she went away and he followed her. No earthly power could have saved him.

But--believe me--she is better dead than married to him. We had his life investigated. He has had his just deserts. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess was not the first. It is well that she was the last, poor girl. The most merciful thing that could have happened to a woman of her character was the thing that did happen. She never knew of his fate. She died thinking that she should meet him again--that she had successfully broken down all barriers--that she and her lover could live their lives in peace, here in America. She never learned that there could be no happiness for her with a man like him. Let them rest in their graves--for graves are better than courts. As Minister I could not say these things; but I trust you, gentlemen, and I am talking to you now as a man who has known love himself. Good-bye."

The little man stiffened up and became the Minister again.

"When, gentlemen, will you be ready to receive Mademoiselle Atheson?"

Father Murray bowed. "Whenever Your Excellency is pleased to send her."

"Perhaps, Reverend Sir, you will honor me by your presence at luncheon?" As Father Murray hesitated, he added, "It will be better that you should accompany Mademoiselle Atheson to the hotel. Besides,"

and he smiled good-humoredly, "we can get together and revise those statements properly."

Father Murray bowed his acceptance and His Excellency took his leave.

"Luncheon is at one," he remarked, as he left the room. "I should be pleased if you would come a little early. I know you will desire to talk with Mademoiselle."

Shortly after twelve Father Murray was admitted to the Ministry, where Ruth greeted him affectionately.

"How do you like being a Grand d.u.c.h.ess, Ruth?"

She made a little moue. "I don't like it at all. I'm abdicating to-day."

He laughed, and they chatted together for some time, being finally joined by His Excellency's daughters, who stayed with them until luncheon was served. The meal proved to be a merry one, and after it was over the two gentlemen withdrew to the library, followed by Wratslav. Then, accompanied by Ruth, Father Murray returned to the hotel--in a long, low-built limousine.

The Bishop hurriedly pushed aside his almost untouched breakfast and hastened to his study. The time was short, and there was much to be done. His secretary, always prompt, handed him the morning papers, but the Bishop pushed them aside.

"No, I haven't time now. Put them in my grip."

The secretary started to speak, but the Bishop was already giving his instructions, and his subordinate waited, perforce, for a more opportune time--which never came.

On the train, the Bishop's breviary first claimed his attention. As he paused to rest his eyes, his idle glance was suddenly arrested by the flaring headlines of a paper across the aisle. Quickly he opened his grip and brought forth his own papers. Ah, here it was--on the first page.